


Blind Judgement

by TeethVomit



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels, Angst, Blind Character, Blindness, Books, Bookshop, Comfort, Demons, Fallen Angels, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Other, Plant Nursery, Plants, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, garden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 04:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeethVomit/pseuds/TeethVomit
Summary: You've strayed too far from the sun, therefore, you will live out eternity in nothing more than the darkness you so desperately wanted.[discontinued]





	1. Chapter 1

_You've strayed too far from the sun, therefore, you will live out eternity in nothing more than the darkness you so desperately wanted. Is this really what you were hoping to achieve by dipping your body into the lake of sins? Your wings, now so heavy, no longer will carry you back up to the embrace of God, instead, you fall._

...

The voice played over and over again in the fallen's mind, his eyes open in mere half moons. How long had it been since then? Six-thousand years? It felt more or so like six years, but jumping through so many different times of history made it all seem like a blur. Like he just saw flashes of his memories flicker across his mind, unable to grasp at them before they slip through his fingers like sand.

Twisting, turning, lying fat on his back with arms tucked behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling in his condo flat. He had things to do this morning, and quite frankly, he didn't feel like doing any of it. Maybe he could procrastinate more in bed and just disregard his "adult" responsibilities. Demons didn't have to follow human laws or rules... But he wasn't a demon, was he?

Grabbing along the nightstand for his mobile phone, he grasped it and held it up to his lips, his voice a soft and gentle sigh. Lips parted, he took in a small breath and closed his eyes. He was going to regret doing this, but he needed someone other than his "potted children", whom he had neglected for a few days now.

"Call Aziraphale."

He heard the dialing of the phone and the ringing. The ringing drew his mind off into the darker recesses of his thoughts, but the cheery and innocent voice of his six-thousand year old best-friend drew him back into the moment.

"Aziraphale."

"Hey, Angel."

"Crowley, dear! How are you? I wasn't expecting to receive a call from you so soon. Is everything alright?"

_Was_ everything alright? No. It wasn't. But he wasn't going to let it on that he wasn't okay. So he just gave a small chuckle, lips parted in a smile as he opened his eyes to stare up at the blank and gloomy ceiling.

"Honestly, Angel? Things are alright."

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear! Is there something you needed, dear?"

Crowley was silent as he thought about what to say next. Could he tell him he just wanted some company, someone to share wine with on this particularly lonely evening? Then of course, he could always purpose a lunch date. Or breakfast. You could always, according to Crowley, win Aziraphale over with food.

"Tea?"

Tea. Could he really not think of anything better than simple _tea_? He grimaced at the way he sounded a bit too eager, but he hoped that Aziraphale would be swayed by his suggestion to spend time with him. There wasn't much to catch up on, really, but he just... Wanted to hear his voice. The silence in his flat was just too much, even the rustling of his leafy children wasn't enough.

"Oh? Tea sounds wonderful, Crowley! Um, what time were you thinking?"

"Now. I mean... Twenty?"

He internally growled at himself for sounding eager once more. He couldn't lie, Aziraphale was his best friend for nearly _six-thousand years _and that was far longer than any human could ever _dream_ of accomplishing.

"Twenty sounds good! I'll get ready. Meet you at the café?"

"Sounds good, Angel."

Crowley was up in an instant, getting together his clothes as he hung up the phone, setting it aside to fetch on his way out. Of course, he could just simply snap his fingers and be ready to go, but being on Earth for so long taught him to appreciate the way one dressed. He had ridiculous outfits over the years to which he favored at the times, but at the present time they were in, he preferred something simple. And you could never forget those iconic shades that he slipped onto his face, pocketing the phone and slipping on his boots.

"I'll be gone for a good while, so don't cause any trouble while I'm gone."

He would call over his shoulder, closing the door behind him. His potted children trembled lightly, mimicking the sound of rain as they seemed to bid their gardener father farewell. It was thanks to Aziraphale that he had a garden in the first place. Maybe it was just his excuse to have him over, so he could help him tend to the plants. Or maybe Crowley just wanted a little bit of Aziraphale in his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley arrived, as per usual, _fashionably late_. Of course Aziraphale wouldn't mind all that much, knowing the fallen had other things to do beforehand. A little pinch of playful superstition here and a bit of temptation there. He had a job to maintain, even if he usually was considered slacking off. At least getting out and about in a more _lively_ world was much better than what down below had to offer. It was packed, gloomy and downright _boring_.

Approaching the cafè Aziraphale and he had frequented since it was built, he slipped into the outdoor patio and approached the table they so often sat at. The innocent chime of the cherub caught Crowley's ears, making his lips twitch into a small smile, lips parted as he approached the neatly dressed man.

"Crowley!"

"Hello, Angel."

He'd slip into the chair like the smooth scaled reptile he was, slouching in it as he tucked his hands across his chest, ankles crossed.

"I see you started without me."

"Oh, well... I wasn't sure you were going to actually show, you know? Plus... I was hungry."

Ah, his angel was so innocent. Crowley started to unwind from his usually closed off posture and sat up more properly. Leaning on the table top, fingers intertwined under his chin as he listened to his best-friend of six-thousand years. It was amazing they still stuck it out this far with all the ups and downs that the higher powers would throw at them. Crowley knew for certain, he would always be loyal to Aziraphale.

"You know I never mind if you start without me."

He would scold lightly, Aziraphale giggling softly from where he sat, the fork cutting through the slice of apple-pie he had ordered. A waiter came along to ask the fallen if he wanted anything to eat, to which he waved a hand, dismissing them without a word. The waiter shambled off, confused by the action and just decided to come when called.

"You're not going to get anything?"

"You know I can't stand food, Angel. The only thing that tastes good anymore is the so called "body of Christ" and, naturally, "the blood of Christ". Why do you think I don't eat nor drink anything but wine?"

"Ah, of course. But it doesn't hurt to try~"

Aziraphale would chime playfully, but gave a small giggle when Crowley contorted his face into a disgusted sneer. He knew he was joking, but he really disliked food from Earth. Ever since he fell, everything started to taste like ash. The only flavor he could still taste and remember was wine and bread. A shame, really. He wished he could experience the simple pleasures Aziraphale did. But you couldn't get everything you wanted.

"I would if I felt like trying something other than getting smashed."

Crowley would say as his lips parted into a playful smirk, flicking out his forked, serpentine tongue towards the other. Aziraphale almost choked on his tea, making Crowley cover his face as he tried his best not to explode into a fit of laughter. No one was ever to know _what_ they really were. He usually did small little things like that just to catch his angel off guard. And it worked. _Every time_.

"_Crowley_! You know better, least we get seen!"

Aziraphale would scold and Crowley gave a half shrug. Like anyone was paying attention to them, anyway. The cafè was busy and there were many patrons seated at the tables. People walking back and forth just past the gate added to the noise. But to Crowley, it was all white noise, the only sound he would much rather hear would be Aziraphale's, literally, angelic voice. He gave him a small smile.

"No harm in a little fun, Angel."

"If it didn't involve that snake tongue, then it would be harmless."

Aziraphale would scold with a smile on his lips, forking in a small portion of the pie. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his shades, his lips parted as he drew in a breath, letting his senses taste the air as he watched his angel indulge in one of his guilty pleasures.

"Have you plans tonight?"

That question threw the serpent off guard as he tilted his head off to the side, blinking eyes behind the shades before he pursed his lips. It looked like he was thinking, but in actuality, he couldn't think of anything.

"Don't think so. If I do, then oh well."

"You should check, dear."

"Nah."

Crowley waved his hand to dismiss the idea of even _checking_ to see if he had any appointments. Yeah, right. Like Hell needed him for anything after the whole mix-up with the Antichrist.

"Oh, alright. So, I suppose you're free?"

"Yeah."

"My place or yours?"

Crowley took a moment to think this through. Would he want to go to Aziraphale's bookshop, where it was warm and inviting with all the different worlds lined up neatly on shelves. Or would he rather him at his flat, a gloomy place that was just as empty as his vessel? It was a hard choice, but he knew the answer right away. His children could take care of themselves, it wasn't like they could simply _run away_.

"Yours."


	3. Chapter 3

As the two talked into the late afternoon, they soon paid the bill and made their way out of the small gate that separated the patio to the sidewalk. Crowley tucked his hands into his pockets looking over to Aziraphale to see if he was going to follow him. As expected, he seemed to be waiting on Crowley to lead him to the Bentley. Only one problem.

"I walked."

"What?"

"I mean, I walked here. I didn't take the Bentley."

Aziraphale seemed confused at this. But how could he _not_ take the Bentley? It was his most prized possession! Aside from him, of course, but still...! It was unheard of, Crolwey, of all people, to _walk_? He drove practically everywhere.

"Is the Bentley alright?"

Aziraphale would ask, his eyes knit up in worry as he looked to Crowley, who gave a small snort and threw his head back with a sharp _haha_ before he tilted his head in his direction.

"The car's fine. I just felt like walking. Too crowded here. I know how much you hate the way I drive."

Crowley would point out, making the angel purse his lips. It was true, Crowley drove like the devil was on his heels. _Literally_. Always had to go fast, like he was planning on trying to kill them both. Crowley wouldn't do that, though. He cared too much for the angel's safety.

"Anyway, after you, Angel."

Crowley would wave out his hand like a small bow, awaiting the angel to lead him to his humble palace of thousands of wolds and heroes. Can't forget the monsters, though. They had every right to be there, too. Aziraphale hummed softly as he soon started to lead the way down the sidewalk towards the _A. Z. Fell & Co._ bookstore, hands folded in front of himself as he walked. Crowley had the usual saunter, hands in his pockets and his head slightly lifted a little higher than most. His lips parted slightly as he drew in a small breath, soon speaking up.

"You have any of that wine?"

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to him before he continued forward, eyes cast upwards as he thought. He had an array of several wines, a few that Crowley liked. Maybe he'd open up a new blood red wine, see if he liked that one...

"I have a few different ones and the one you like, if you want to try a new flavor. I've had it for a good sixty years."

Aziraphale would smile back to his companion. Crowley sucked in a small breath and gave a small half shrug. Why the hell not. It wasn't like they all tasted the same. Thankfully, they didn't.

"Sounds good."

Crowley would reply, mind wandering. The remainder of the walk was silent as the lamb led the viper to the house of stories. Once there, Aziraphale unlocked the door and smiled brightly, holding out his hand to let him enter first. Crowley arched a brow before he stepped in, shuddering at the feeling of the cramped space and smell of hundreds of thousands of books. Some stacked, some neatly on shelves. Some old and some new. He wasn't a stranger to this place, but it always did catch him off guard once in a while with different smells overpowering the older ones. Angel's smell was always the most dominant, next after that was coffee and the occasional tea. Then it was dust and books. Old parchments and leaflets scattered and tucked away here and there. It was like a hoarder's den, so easy to get lost. He knew the way, though, to the couch the often lounged on when Aziraphale was too busy to converse with him and working on restoring old book bindings.

As he normally did, he flopped down, arms resting on the back rest as he let his head fall back. His eyes fell closed as he let out a heavy breath. This was much more warmer than his flat. It was just so open and empty. This felt more like a home. While Crowley got settled in, Aziraphale dug around for a bottle of _CHÂTEAU LA TOUR SAINT EMILION 1959_, to which he found with ease and smiled. Nothing like aged wine. He remembered the 1950's fondly. What a wild decade.

Uncorking, he poured a pair of wine glasses halfway and handed one to Crowley, who took it with a mumbled _thanks_ and almost immediately downed it in one gulp. He winced at the bitter taste, licking his lips and held out his glass for another serving, a brow cocked. Aziraphale hadn't even had a chance to take a small sip before rolling his eyes, moving to fill it.

"Do try to savor it. It's the only bottle I have, dear."

Aziraphale would scold, making the serpent flick out his forked tongue. He did as he was told, though, and took a small sip. Wine tasted better by the sips than the chugs. Even though he was a mad alcoholic, they still could get sober in a snap of a finger. Angelic and demonic powers came in handy for more than just saving and causing mischief.

"To us, Angel."

Crowley would suddenly purpose, holding up his glass. Aziraphale was frozen in confusion for a moment, making Crowley lower his glass.

"Come on, Angel. It's been _six thousand years_. It's not too soon, is it?"

"Oh, of course not! I do find it odd, though, that you're usually this quiet. Why is that?"

Aziraphale would point out, making the serpent groan, throwing his head back and letting his tongue stick out partly, just the forks past his lips.

"I'm _moody_, Angel. Am I not allowed to sulk?"

"But what is there to sulk about? Oh! Are your plants giving you trouble again?"

Aziraphale would ask as he took a small sip and tilted his head off to the side curiously. He always loved Crowley's small nursery. It was different than what he was used to, and it was more _breathable_ than his bookshop, which was mostly dust. Crowley kept his place _spotless_. Much better than what he could do in the bookshop. The plants always seemed excited when the angel came to visit, making the fallen a bit jealous and embarrassed at the same time. He couldn't yell around them, least he frightened Aziraphale with how cruel he could get. Instead, he just let Aziraphale praise the plants and water them, all while he listened and watched from his desk.

"Ah, hah, no. Not the plants."

He would say with a roll of his eyes, shaking his head at the guess. He took a small gulp, letting the nectar roll along his tongue before sliding down his throat. This wine wasn't half bad now that he was taking his time with it. If he just straight up chugged it, he'd be shit-faced so fast that Aziraphale would have no choice but to let him sleep on his couch. Not that he would mind, and that was what Crowley was going for, but he felt like he'd rather spend time with him than pass out drunk.

"Then what is it, dear? I'm sure I can help you with whatever ales you."

Ah. Aziraphale... So eager to be helpful and cure what could be cured. He really was an angel, and it was a shame the others didn't follow after him and his habits. Heaven would be a lot more homely than just white washed walls and empty, long corridors...

"I don't think you can, but I'll take anything I can get. Truth is, Angel..."

His throat closed up, he felt like his breath got caught in his throat. What was he going to say, how was he going to say it? He couldn't just outright admit that he was _lonely_ and wanted to be _close_ to the other... No, that wouldn't be a good idea to say... So he figured he might as well just ask, just this once, ask if he could spend the night on the angel's couch, surrounded by the warmth of books and the soft glow of the streetlamps.

"...Mind if I stay the night? I just want to get drunk. Like humans do when they want to 'drink it all away'."

He would be dramatic, throwing an arm over his forehead and leaning backwards slightly before he was lying flat on the couch, his lips parted in an exasperated sigh. Aziraphale wasn't at all amused or moved by this, rolling his eyes at the dramatic snake.

"You know you're always welcomed here, Crowley. You needn't ask."

Aziraphale smiled behind the rim of his wine glass, taking a light sip. Crowley let his arm move to his chest as he took in a deep breath.

"Thanks, Angel."

"Of course, dear."


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley didn't know what he was going to do with the voices in his head whispering all sorts of negative things. His hands brushed briefly over his face, being mindful not to jab himself in the face with his shades. The last thing he wanted was to bother and whine to Aziraphale about his eye, at least not yet. He couldn't bother him with that...

Aziraphale had put away the dishes and bid Crowley good night, having given him one of his pajama pants for him to borrow. It was clearly big on Crowley's skinny waist, but thankfully it had drawstrings. Poor thing looked like a deflated balloon. At least it was roomy and comfortable. Even held the angel's sweet scent, to which he inhaled with a flick of his tongue and drawing in a breath.

Eventually the bookshop got silent, Aziraphale in his sleeping quarters and the fallen in the vast emptiness of the bookstore. Despite being surrounded by shelves and antique furniture, he felt like he was back in his flat. As the hour passed, his eyes eventually closed, his body slumping into the plush couch. A hand on his stomach and the other lightly brushing knuckles along the old wooden floor. His shades remained on his face, either because he forgot or he just didn't care to take them off.

\---

Crowley awoke the next morning about the time that Aziraphale started to make tea, to which Crowley groaned as light filtered into the dusty warm home. His hands ran along his face and he grumbled, glancing to Aziraphale as he looked over to him, a smile on his face

"Good morning, dear. Sleep alright?"

He would ask, getting a pointed and blank look from Crowley, slow blinking in response before he yawned loudly, serpentine tongue stretching out a good foot before it slipped back into his mouth. Aziraphale would take that as a yes as he chuckled, moving to set the table and settling down in his armchair. Crowley followed his movements, shifting to sit up and rest his arms on the table, head resting on his crossed arms.

"What time is it..."

"About five in the morning. And I know, you're not a morning person and I understand, but I open about eight."

"Five?! _Fucking hell_..."

Crowley groaned as he threw his head back with another yawn, soon turning his attention to Aziraphale. It was awkwardly silent and Crowley arched a brow at the tension he could feel in the air.

"What?"

Aziraphale sipped his tea and hummed, having been lost in thought.

"Nothing, dear. Was... Thinking."

Crowley knew a lie when he heard one and believe him, Aziraphale was the absolute _worst_ liar. The pause was too long, the tone of voice was just wrong. The fallen shifted slightly, pulling out an arm when it brushed against something, making his body tense. Was that...

His lips parted slightly as he took in a breath, soon scowling. He snatched the shades and put them back on his face, glaring at the angel.

"_Why did you take them off?_"

His voice was low, dark and threatening. Aziraphale had only ever heard this once and that was something he didn't think he'd hear again. The angel shrunk a bit into the chair, holding the tea cup and saucer. Crowley could hear it clattering very faintly in his plump fingers.

"_Aziraphale..._"

"You were sleeping! I didn't think it was comfortable to wear them so I took them off... I'm sorry, Crowley."

Aziraphale answered, the pressure too much as he held the cup and saucer closer to himself, afraid that if Crowley wanted to, he'd flip the table. He never let anyone touch his shades, no matter what. He didn't understand why, and as good of an angel as he was, he didn't pry. It was Crowley's thing and it was just Crowley being, well, Crowley. He seemed about ready to be yelled at, wincing slightly in preparation.

"So you saw them?"

He would ask as he looked to him, his eyes clouded behind his shades. Aziraphale wasn't expecting the tone of his voice to go from violent to soft, almost a whisper. The angel gave a small nod before he cleared his throat.

"Yes, dear."

Crowley shrunk now, into the sofa and sinking into the cushions, his head turned away from Aziraphale, not wanting to look at him, or to have Aziraphale look at him. He could imagine the look of disgust on his face. Crowley didn't say anything after that, the silence heavy as the sound of Aziraphale drinking and the gentle clinks of china from the tea set.

"Crowley..."

Aziraphale would say softly, causing Crowley to close in more into himself. The moment Aziraphale leaned closer, the sound of a gentle _whoosh. _The angel pulled back before he was met with a face full of ebony feathers, who were slow to cocoon their owner, closing him off from Aziraphale. He was shocked to see the fallen let his wings out. He never did unless he was ready to fight or flee. Did he do this often when he was alone? It tugged at his heart, making him set aside his cup and saucer.

"Dear...?"

He would whisper, the wings responding as they curled up more. Crowley didn't want to talk about it, not yet. He needed a moment to himself. A moment to think and collect his thoughts, to decide if he was going to stay or leave. He was leaning towards the latter. There was no way he could talk to Aziraphale about this. He didn't want to even consider what he was thinking about him right now.

Aziraphale was quiet before he hummed softly, his tone light and gentle.

"Take your time, dear. You're always welcomed here, you know."

After that, the angel had walked off with his cup and saucer, going to tend to the dishes and put them away. Spruce up the shop a bit before he would open. Leaving Crowley to sit on the couch, hidden in his feathers, his fingers moving along the primary coverts. What was he going to do...?


	5. Chapter 5

He had chosen the latter.

By the time Aziraphale had returned with a small smile as he was about to speak, but he was completely surprised to see that the Fallen wasn't where he had left him. In his place were a few scattered black feathers, a few dusty and a few with a shine. Crowley hadn't been one to just up and leave after a small outburst like that. In fact, Crowley had no reason to distrust the angel. Aziraphale frowned mostly to himself, thinking he had offended the other, to which he had with removing his shades, but how was he to know? The serpent never told him.

Pulling out his cellular phone, he scrolled to find Crowley's number and dialed it. Holding it to his ear, the tone of the phone ringing droned.

"You've reach the distractedly fabulous Crowley--"

"Crowley! I was worried when you just suddenly--"

"--I'm not here at the moment so please, don't leave a message after the horrendous tone."

Aziraphale's smile soon wilted as he listened to the recorded voice of the Fallen and the tone that followed afterwords. He was disappointed that Crowley didn't answer him. He never ignored his calls. It tugged at his big heart. He closed the phone and tucked it into his breast pocket and looked to the feathers that were strewn about the couch and floor.

"Crowley..."

~~~

Crowley felt like a complete bastard for just up and leaving without saying a word, especially to Aziraphale. He didn't deserve that. He was too much of a marshmallow softy to even do him harm, emotionally or physically. His hands raked through his greasy hair as he thought about a shower once he returned back to his flat. How was he going to tell him? Would he be able to tell him? He knew there would be many questions and possibly an argument or two. He wasn't sure he could handle it when it came to Aziraphale. He was his best friend, for Satan's sake!

Weaving through the crowds of bodies, he seemed completely alienated from the rest of the world. He wanted nothing more than to open his wings and take to the skies. But that singular rule bound him to the ground.

_Stay hidden_.

Biting his lip, Crowley continued on foot to his home, the door opening and slamming heavily as he gripped the glasses in his fingers and threw them to the ground in a frustrated shout. Potted and hanging plants started to shiver their leaves, thinking one of them had offended their father-figure. Who had done it now? Who got the spot on their leaf? Who was wilting? The shivering soon silenced once the voice of their caretaker cracked as he spoke.

"I can't do this. I can't..."

The Fallen's voice wavered as he rested his balled up fists on the sleek desk's surface, his body hunched as he stared blankly. He had so many emotions raging back and fourth in his mind and body, a tidal wave of depression, drowning him. A strike of anger, igniting him. His lips pulled into a snarl as he smashed his fist onto the surface, soon just crumbling. Wings soon flapped before they sunk to the ground, limply lying there. It was clear in the dim light that he had been neglecting his wings. Despite the condition he was in, he was failing to take care of himself. All he did these days aside from being near Aziraphale, he moped and drank. Some would consider him a heavy drinker and a drunk, even if he could easily reverse what he had consumed.

He was practically at a loss. Could he trust the angel? Or did he just ruin the bond they had with how tainted he had become?

"He... He saw them. Do you know how that _feels_?"

He would ask aloud, his head turning to look towards his potted children. Not a leaf stirred. They stayed motionless as he approached, wings dragging across the floor before he stopped, leaning heavily on a table that held a small bunch of carnations. The scent was enough to envelop the man and have his tense body sag.

"I don't know if he loves me less now that he's seen. I don't know if I can trust him to keep his mouth shut about them. I don't know how to tell him... I don't know if... _If we can remain friends_."

He strained at the last statement, his eyes falling closed as he listened to soft shimmer of leaves, his fingers finding their way to the rim of the pot. His thumb stroked over the soft petals as he let his tongue slip out, flicking to catch the sweet scent of the carnations before it disappeared.

How was he going to explain to Aziraphale that _he_ was the one to blame for him becoming blind?


End file.
